The Four Women Ellen Met
by VeIaRrGtOh
Summary: Ellen Stephenson was a little girl raised by men and taught to fight and kill - but in the end, she found a way to become an honorable young woman. Growing up, she didn't have many women in her life - but there were some, just a few, who were there to mold her. Four-shot. Rated K /T.
1. Dr Monica Bratton

_Welcome – I wanted to make a couple of short stories about Ellen's youth, growing up under the tutelage of Wylie and Paige. I don't think there were a great many women in her life that made a difference, but I think there could have been certain ones that stood out. I hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think!_

_A/N: I own nothing but the characters created for this story._

* * *

_Derry, Northern Ireland_

"Where's Dr. Crilly?" The man's voice was sharp, surprised. Brannon decided to ignore the brusque tone and smiled at him as she shut the door of the observation room behind her.

"Hello," she said energetically. "Dr. Crilly had to go home with a bit of a family emergency, but I'm happy to help with the rest of his appointments for the day. My name's Dr. Monica Brannon. How do you do?" Brannon smiled again at the man, who stood with his arms folded, looking furious. No reaction. Brannon turned her smile instead to the little girl who sat, very still, on the observation table.

"My daughter has always been to see Dr. Crilly," the man said. He looked anxious, stressed – Brannon noted the tightness in his voice carried over into the lines of his hard, narrow face. Brannon smiled again, in what she hoped was a calming, professional manner, and took her seat at the desk in the corner of the room.

"I understand sir, I'm terribly sorry. I can finish up your appointment today, and then I'd be happy to pass along any questions or concerns you have and chat them over with Dr. Crilly," Brannon said easily, glancing at the file folder she had brought with her. "It's Simon Sloane, right?" she asked the man, and a muscle in his jaw clenched in response. Brannon turned to the small, dark-haired girl, who was watching the exchange with wary gray eyes. Her eyes were wide as she looked perceptively at her father – she seemed to feed off of his anxiety. "And you must be Ellen. Hello darling."

The girl looked at Brannon and then quickly down at the ground. Brannon felt herself sigh inwardly. Lord, she had been around some worrisome parents in the past, but it always irked her to see the worry carry over to their children.

"Won't you take a seat, Mr. Sloane?" Brannon gestured to the chair next to the observation table. Simon Sloane didn't move.

"A family emergency…" he said skeptically. "I'd really feel more comfortable if we were to see Dr. Crilly like we always do. Ellen really needs his undivided attention."

_Good Lord_, Brannon thought. Instead, she said, "Well, you've got my undivided attention, Mr. Sloan! How's that?"

Sloan didn't answer immediately, but stared back at her, as if sizing her up.

"How long have you been with this practice?" he snapped.

"Almost a full year now," Brannon replied patiently. She returned his cool gaze. "I don't believe we would have met. Our records indicate that Ellen hasn't been in for a checkup for two years or so."

"My job requires us to move around frequently," Sloan replied. There was another beat of silence. "What are your credentials?"

Brannon wasn't sure if this was a joke or if he was simply an overprotective father. She decided to give him the benefit of thinking the latter.

"I graduated University College Cork five years ago, and worked residency at Our Lady's in Crumlin," Brannon said. "Took a year or two off, and then Dr. Crilly brought me in to his practice, and here I am."

"Took a year or two off?" Sloan sniffed. "What does that mean?"

"I had a baby," Brannon said shortly. They were both silent for a moment. Sloan's hard gaze had turned dismissive. Brannon pursed her lips and decided it was time to move on before she truly gave the man a piece of her mind and told him exactly how difficult medical school had been.

"Mr. Sloan, I'm not sure what it is about me that isn't working for you or your daughter, but how's about we finish up Ellen's check up and get you scheduled to speak with Dr. Crilly on a day that works for the two of you?" Sloan didn't answer. Brannon took the chance to charge ahead.

"So! I've looked over Ellen's file, and she's doing well, extremely well," Brannon trilled, smiling again, more for the girl's benefit than anything. Ellen had looked up and appeared to be listening attentively again. Brannon glanced back at the file as she read. "Healthy weight, healthy height, and her blood pressure, hearing, heart and eyes are perfect… The nurse did write a note that Ellen's due for a booster, another MMR, so we can take care of that today…" Brannon raised an eyebrow at Sloan and lowered her voice, just slightly, but continued speaking in the same casual tone, so as not to alert the girl. Brannon took another quick look before she closed the file – Simon's wife was listed, having died some years previously. There were no notes from the nurses, or from Dr. Crilly in previous years, about the child's personality or mental health, or about her relationship with her father.

"She's perfectly healthy," Brannon summarized, spinning in her chair to look at Sloan again. "How's she doing socially? Does she talk much?"

"She can talk, if that's what you're asking," Sloane said. "And she does well in school."

Brannon turned to the girl and smiled. Ellen's wide, gray eyes were turned on Brannon now. Brannon couldn't be sure, but the eyes seemed to purvey a remarkable depth – as if the girl was listening to the adults speak and could understand every word. "Can you tell me your first and last name, my dear?"

The girl glanced at her father. He gave the most imperceptible of nods, but Brannon caught it. The little girl looked back at Brannon.

"Ellen Sloan."

"And where do you go to school, Ellen?"

"Hollybush Primary."

"Do you like school, Ellen?" Brannon asked.

"Yes, ma'am," the girl said. Her voice was throaty and deep for such a little one. Brannon smiled again.

"That's good," she said. "What's your favorite thing about school?"

The girl paused. Her forehead started to crease in confusion, as if she had never been asked the question before, and was wondering why she was being asked it now – but then she seemed to think better of it, and Brannon could swear the child arranged a thoughtful expression on her face. She was quiet for a moment more.

"I like my classmates. And my teacher," she said. "And I like PE," she added politely, and smiled at her father. "I'm the best in my whole class in PE. I'm even better than the boys." The girl smirked a little, and Brannon smiled back at her. Something about the girl's accent was strange though – it was local, and yet… not. Brannon couldn't put a finger on it, but put it out of mind.

"You've got a very smart young lady on your hands, it looks like," Brannon said, turning to Sloane. "She speaks very well for her age."

"She does," he acknowledged, just as the door opened and the nurse entered with Ellen's vaccination dose on a tray. Brannon kept talking as the nurse placed the tray on the desk and began to fill the syringe – in her experience, preoccupied pediatric patients were the best recipients for shots, and she didn't want Ellen any more tense than her father had already made her.

"So Ellen, who's your best friend at school, would you say?" Brannon continued.

Ellen scrunched up her face in thought. "Probably Harry," she said. "Or Tommy. Tommy's better at football then Harry, so we like to play together, but Harry is nice too."

"You like playing with the boys?" Brannon pressed.

"Yes."

"What about girls? Do you like playing with any of the girls?"

Ellen hesitated, then grinned sheepishly. "Not really," she said, successfully holding back a giggle.

Brannon laughed. "Well, Dad, I think you've got a girl who likes the gents on your hands," she said, looking over at Sloan. He glanced at his watch in response.

"This'll pinch just a bit, love," the nurse said casually to Ellen as she approached with the needle. This was what Brannon loved about Crilly's practice – for so many young ones, a needle in the doctor's office was a horror. All of the nurses and staff at the practice worked in tandem with the doctors to create the best situation for the children – distract a child first, make them happy and silly and relaxed, then tell them quickly and casually what was about to happen. Usually there were still tears afterward, but Brannon felt it was better than trying to coax a child out of hiding to get a shot, which she had had to do on more than one occasion when she worked at the hospital.

Ellen turned her gray eyes on the nurse as she took the girl's arm in her hand. The nurse was quick and accurate – the needle was in and out of Ellen's arm in moments – but Brannon stared in wonder. The little girl didn't even flinch. Ellen looked interestedly at the nurse and what she was doing, and then turned her attention back to Brannon, anticipating more questions. Brannon stared back at her, and tried to comprehend what was going on behind the gray eyes. They were indifferent to the shot. No tears appeared to be coming. Brannon was too startled to speak for a moment. It was Sloan, of course, who brought her out of the gray eyes and back to reality.

"Is there anything else you… recommend?" he asked, his words dripping with disdain. "Anything else we need to go over?"

"Uh, no," Brannon said, gathering Ellen's file and standing up. "No, Ellen's perfectly healthy. And she's done very well today." She smiled at the little one again, who was now focused on the bright green bandage that the nurse had applied to cover the needle mark. "If there's nothing else you need from me, just be sure to stop at the nurse's station on the way out."

"And Dr. Crilly?" Sloan asked.

"Oh yes, Dr. Crilly – anything you'd like me to ask him? Or go over with him?" Brannon asked, opening the door for everyone.

"No, I'll do that myself," Sloan said. "Come on, Ellen." The girl promptly hopped off the observation table and followed her father out of the room and down the hall.

"Goodbye, Ellen!" Brannon called after her, watching the father and daughter go. The girl turned and gave a tiny, shy smile and little wave. Then they were around the corner and out of sight.

"Odd family, yeah?" Brannon said softly to the nurse.

"Oh yeah," the nurse snorted in response. "The little one's always been sweet as a button, quiet, but sweet. But her father? Snot. Treats all the women in the practice like they're not capable of anythin', every time he's been here. What a prick – 'scuse my French."

Brannon chuckled and shook her head. But she made a note to herself to talk with Crilly when he returned – whenever that was – and find out more about the smart, tough little girl with gray eyes, and her father. She wanted to keep an eye out for the girl, to make sure she would be alright.

* * *

But she never did. And Brannon never saw Ellen again.

* * *

_There will be more! (Hence the title.) Stay tuned!_


	2. Martine

_A/N: Sorry for the long delay! (If anyone is reading.) I love reviews if you have the time to leave one and let me know how I'm doing._

_Also, I just went ahead and decided that one of the seven languages Ellen knows is Haitian Creole._

* * *

_Hinche, Haiti_

Martine could hear the girl before she saw her. The noises were coming through the open windows in the yellow cement house. It was a shaky kind of crying, deep breaths and muttering, a panic building into a storm. Martine pulled a sheet from her basket of laundry, held by its end and shook it out – it flipped through the hot, humid air with a snap. She gathered the corners and began to fold it. The crying continued.

"_Vini non isit, la pitit_," Martine called. "Come here, child."

There was silence for a moment as the breathing and gasping abruptly stopped – the girl hadn't realized anyone could hear her hysterics. No movement. Martine wondered, just for a second, if the girl would run or disobey her. But the next moment she had stepped from the house and into the courtyard.

"_Oui, Martine_?" Ellen was looking at the ground, not at the housekeeper's face. She had stopped the panicked breathing and was still now. That was something that always surprised Martine about the 11 year old – she had a substantial amount of self-control.

"Come here," Martine said in Creole. Ellen moved forward slowly. When she was close, Martine reached out and grabbed the girl's chin – Ellen flinched – and pulled her face upward. Her face was tear-streaked and pale. Martine was greeted by the girl's clear gray eyes – opened wide in a panicky agitation. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm not," Ellen said lamely, and Martine glared. It was true that the girl wasn't _currently_ crying. Martine decided to rephrase.

"Why _were_ you crying?" Martine asked.

"No reason," Ellen whispered, trying to look back at the ground, but Martine clutched the girl's chin harder. Ellen never even hesitated with the second language, and she even lied easily with it. She had picked up Haitian Creole – mostly with Martine's help – quickly. She was smart. Smart enough to know not to lie to her housekeeper, Martine thought, and raised an eyebrow at Ellen's response.

"Child." It was an order, and Ellen always obeyed orders, Martine knew. Ellen was quiet a moment more, then looked away.

"I… I'll show you," she whispered. Martine released her hold on the girl, and Ellen turned and walked back inside. Martine made to follow, but picked up her laundry basket first – if Mister Paige were to come upon them, it would be better, for both Martine and Ellen, if Martine had something she could claim to be doing.

Ellen led Martine past the bathroom, where Martine knew she had heard the girl crying from just a moment ago, and up the stairs. The house wasn't large, but it was sturdy – plain cement walls, floors, ceilings and staircases painted odd, bright colors. The windows were usually open, allowing some amount of breeze to come through the home and relieve the inhabitants from the oppressive Haitian summer. By the standards of the rest of the town of Hinche, the house was positively grand – a jungle-enclosed estate. The path to the village was long and winding, and the large wall that surrounded the house and its courtyard was intimidating enough to keep the village mischief-makers and looters away. On that thought, Martine smirked, Mister Paige was enough to keep them away as well. The home was isolated – besides Martine to do housekeeping and cooking, and the occasional grocer bringing a food delivery by, no one ever came to visit the house. Martine knew Mister Paige liked it that way, keeping himself and his daughter hidden.

Martine sometimes wondered what brought them here, the tall skinny white man and his obedient, quiet daughter. Martine was an old woman now, and had seen many people come through the rural town she called home, looking for escape – for a place to never be found. Martine had feared at first that the man had poor intentions for the girl, but in her months of service to them she had realized they were simply father and daughter, albeit with a more strained relationship than most. She had recently supposed that the man was running from an ex-wife, with his daughter in tow. Martine had coddled Ellen – she felt poorly for any girl taken from her mother – and the two had grown close.

They came to the top of the stairs. Ellen's room was next door to her father's. She entered quickly and gestured Martine to come in. Ellen snapped the door shut behind her.

Martine looked around. Ellen's room was always neat and rather sparse – the walls were plain and the dresser held nothing more than clothes. Ellen's only possession, that Martine could find at least, was a potted flower Ellen kept by the open window and cared for. Nothing seemed out of place. Martine looked at Ellen quizzically.

"What did you bring me up here for, child?" Martine asked.

Ellen hesitated a moment, then crouched down and reached under her bed. She pulled out a white bed sheet, crumpled and twisted into a ball.

"I…" Ellen began, but her voice dissolved into shaky dry sobs once more. "I think I'm hurt."

"Hurt?" Martine repeated. "Where? What happened?"

"I… I woke up this morning-"

"Where does it hurt you?" Martine interrupted, her eyes tracing the girl's figure.

"It doesn't – I mean it's not paining me, but," Ellen said. "Someone must have hurt me during the night. And then I saw in the bathroom earlier…" Her voice trailed off and she slowly shook out the bed sheet, and Martine saw it – it was small, but a distinct red blood stain stood out in the middle of the crisp white sheet she had laundered last week.

"Oh," Martine said, trying to stifle a giggle and failing. Relief flooded her. "Oh child, is that it?"

"What?" Ellen cried. "What do you mean?"

Martine couldn't help it. She crossed her arms and laughed, hard. "My dear, you frightened me! I thought you was really sick. That's just your women's blood, _bebe mwen_."

"What do you mean?" Ellen paled.

Martine paused. "Child, is this your first time bleeding?"

Tears started leaking out of Ellen's eyes, and she turned a bright red. "From there, yes."

Martine sighed and ran her hands over her face. "This is a conversation for your father, child. Not me."

"Why? I don't understand. Am I hurt or not?" Ellen was blushing fiercely now, Martine couldn't help but smile.

"Oh, Lord, child, I'm not having this talk with you," she said wearily. "Are you telling me you never learned it in school? Or from your father?"

"Learned what?" Ellen wailed. "Martine, I'm scared! What is it?"

"Ay, child," Martine sat down on the side of Ellen's bed and patted the spot next to her. "Throw that sheet in the corner and then come sit by me." Ellen did as she was told – as she always did – and then sat gingerly on the bed, the tears still running freely. Martine felt a little badly for laughing. She had never thought she would have to have this conversation with the little girl she cared for.

"Well, my love, the first thing is not to be frightened," Martine patted Ellen's hand. "It happens to every woman. It happened to me, it happened to your mama – everyone.

"Now I ain't going to go too far here – that's no job of mine, that's something you gotta talk to your daddy or your mama-" Martine knew she was fishing for information here, and she didn't care – "or a teacher or somethin'. But when a woman starts to bleed, just means she's growing up. You're getting older, _bebe mwen_. You're starting to become a lady."

"But… I don't understand," Ellen said bluntly. "Why?" Martine reached over and wiped the tears from the girl's cheek with her rough hand.

"Girly, if you're asking me for the science you've come to the wrong lady!" Martine laughed. "Just know it's that: just a part of growing up." She pulled the little girl's head against her shoulder and wiped the rest of Ellen's tears, rocking her in silence for a moment. Something the child said had bothered her though – what was it?

"Why did you think someone hurt you during the night?" Martine asked after a moment.

"I don't know, I thought someone found us and wanted to hurt me," Ellen said shakily. "But I couldn't understand why there was blood but I didn't feel any pain."

"But why would you think that? Why would someone want to find you and hurt you?" Martine pressed. She could feel Ellen tense slightly against her shoulder.

"I don't know," Ellen whispered. She was quiet. Martine rocked her for another moment.

"Don't you worry, my dear," she said. "We'll get you cleaned up and taken care of. It's no big deal."

"I'm sorry about the sheet," Ellen said softly.

"Don't you worry now," Martine said. She ran her hair over the girl's fine brown hair, soothing her. "That's nothing." Martine smiled and pulled the girl's chin up again so she could look in Ellen's face, and deep into the clear gray eyes. "You're a woman now, my girl. One of us. Welcome to the group!" She chuckled, and Ellen smiled faintly.

"You're confusing me," she said. "I've always been a girl."

"Ay, like I said, I'm not getting into this conversation with you fully," Martine said. "But, growing into a woman means lots of things. Your body will be changing. You'll start wanting and needing diff'ren things. Your woman's blood means you can start having babies, but of course you won't be doing that, now will ya?"

Ellen sprang up suddenly and turned to face the housekeeper. "Wait, what do you mean?"

Martine looked back at her, bemused. "It means when you get your blood, like you did, that your tummy is saying it's ok, you're old enough to start having a baby growing inside you." Martine smiled a bit at the girl's shock. "Now, I wasn't too much older than you when I had my first one, but you girl, no, you ain't having babies for some time."

Ellen stared back at Martine. Her lower lip started to tremble, ever so slightly, before she bit it back. Her face had gone white. Martine frowned.

"Where's your father at, child?" she asked. "We should let him know, he'll get you what ya need."

"No!" Ellen's voice was shrill and sudden and made Martine jump on the bed. "No, no we can't!"

Martine gaped back at the little girl, completely lost for an explanation for all of the girl's changing reactions.

"Please, please don't tell my father!" Ellen cried. "Please, Martine, promise me? Please?"

Martine stared at the girl. All the blood had drained from her face, and she looked terrified.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, miss-" Martine began.

"I'm not ashamed," Ellen said, shaking he head and wringing her hands. "I'll tell him. Just let me tell him. Let me do it when I'm ready?"

Martine eyed the girl for another moment, then nodded begrudgingly. "I won't. But you better tell him then."

"I- I will, I promise," Ellen said.

* * *

Martine must have told him eventually, though, Ellen figured out later. Not long after that was when the talk about making more warriors started.


	3. The Enchanter

_A/N: Writing villains is always fun :) Also, this chapter is where I'll start rating the story T, just to be on the safe side. There's nothing explicit, just a bit of revulsion-inducing adult themes. But Ellen is growing up, so it's something I felt she would have had to deal with._

_I own nothing!_

* * *

_St. Davids, Pembrokeshire, Wales_

"Paige!" Geoffrey Wylie roared as he slammed his way through the house. Though it was really more of a castle, the enchanter thought, as she hurried behind him, compelled mostly by the magical collar that circled her neck and by the wizard guards that followed behind her. Where Wylie went, they went, and so would she from now on.

The house wasn't any enormous thing, but its ancient bricks and thick tapestries were reminiscent of what she thought she would see in a castle in a movie. There were torches in sconces lit here and there along the corridors, but there was electric lighting too, so she could clearly make out the rooms and hallways spinning off into other parts of the house. The enchanter paid close attention to the doors and exits in each room.

Wylie finally burst through set of double doors that opened to a large dining room. There was a long, narrow table that ran the entire length of the room. At the far end, next to a fire in the hearth, two people were scrambling to their feet to receive the parade of wizards entering the room. Servants flew out of what must have been an adjoining kitchen to stand at attention in the doorway.

A tall, thin man with dark hair – another wizard – hurried to greet Wylie. They exchanged a firm, hasty handshake before Wylie strode forward. The other wizard spared an interested glance at the enchanter before hurrying to fall in step behind him.

"We're starving," Wylie announced before taking what was the other wizard's seat – Paige, the enchanter supposed – and pulling a plate of chicken toward him. The servants and the table's other occupant, a young girl, remained standing. "It's been a long journey." Wylie continued, attacking the meat.

"Fruitful, I take it though," Paige said, taking a seat opposite Wylie, looking again at the enchanter hungrily. She bit back the bile she felt rising in her throat and spared him a small smile.

"Yes, she was a fortunate and unexpected purchase," Wylie allowed, sitting back in his chair and washing the chicken down with a gulp of wine. His eyes ran over the enchanter, appraising her as he had over the last two days, as if satisfied with a shopping trip well done. After what was an uncomfortably long pause, Wylie turned back to the food.

"How have things been here? Any other sign of White Rose spies?" he asked, mouth full of potatoes now.

Paige shook his head. "No, though we haven't left the castle since we've been here. Makes it harder for training, but we've been making due."

Wylie nodded and turned his attention to the girl. She'd been standing so still and quiet that the enchanter had barely noticed her. The girl was tall and lanky, dark hair pulled back from her face in a tight bun at the back of her head. Her lips were pressed firmly together and her eyes were downcast in an expression of obedience.

"And how's that been going?" Wylie said to Paige, his eyes still on the girl. Paige snapped his fingers and the girl stepped forward.

"Good," Paige sniffed. "Quite well, actually. We've started calling up the spirits, and she's been faring well."

Wylie nodded approvingly, then said, "And how are you feeling?"

The girl looked up. "Strong," she said in a clear, sturdy voice. Wylie smirked.

"That's what I like to hear."

Paige could barely hide his smugness. "We'd be happy to demonstrate for you," he offered, but Wylie shook his head.

"Later," he said. "We've much to discuss – including where you're going next. Back to the States."

Paige's eyes widened. "You think a move is a wise decision? We are fairly secluded here."

Wylie shook his head again, swallowing. He refilled his goblet of wine and stood, carrying it with him. He threw a look at the enchanter that said plainly they were going to talk elsewhere, and she was to stay here.

"I've heard news – rumors, maybe, but I want to pursue them – that suddenly makes the States very interesting," Wylie grinned, and gestured at Paige and the wizard guard to follow him. "Send food up to my quarters!" he barked at the servants still standing at the kitchen door, and they hurried away to comply. He swept from the room, the guards following. Paige turned to the girl.

"Finish eating and clean up, then to your room," he hissed. "Be quick about it!" He swept from the room, leaving the enchanter alone with the girl. She studied her with some interest.

"Are they always this welcoming with guests?" the enchanter asked, huffing across to where Wylie had been seated and taking his place with an air of defiance. The girl gawked at her, and the enchanter smiled flippantly back at her. The Anawizard Weir she met were usually surprised at the haughty way the enchanter acted, as if she were in charge and hadn't an enemy in the world. The enchanter poured herself a glass of wine and sat back in her chair. She caught sight of herself in a mirror that hung on the opposite wall. She smoothed her long, black hair and batted her eyelashes first at herself, then batted them at the girl. She laughed when the girl looked at her as if she was crazy.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said, taking a sip. She turned her attention from herself to the girl, who had sat back in her seat and was eating what remained on her plate quickly, as if she couldn't wait to leave. She wasn't a wizard, that much was obvious to the enchanter. What was she?

"How old are you?" the enchanter asked, studying the girl over the rim of her goblet.

The girl looked as if she wouldn't answer, so the enchanter slipped a little Persuasion into her face and smiled at her.

"Fifteen," the girl said finally. She looked uncomfortable.

"And what's your name?"

"Ellen," she said after a moment. "What's yours?"

The enchanter laughed delicately and shook her head. "I haven't told anyone my real name in… oh, it must be ten years by now." She studied the girl for another moment. "You're a warrior, aren't you?"

The girl turned back to her food and said nothing, but the enchanter was certain of it. "Good God, I thought you were all dead. Interesting." But she didn't act as if it were interesting. She took another sip of wine and began examining the hall around her.

"Where are you from?" the girl asked. The enchanter looked back at her and caught the gray eyes staring at her, inquiring and confused.

"Hmmm, everywhere," the enchanter said mulishly. "Shanghai originally, but I've been living in London for years now. Here, there and everywhere. The Trade – taking Anawizard Weir everywhere since 1485."

"The Trade?" the girl asked, looking confused.

"Oh what, they didn't get you in the Trade?" the enchanter asked. "You know – the Trade. The black market. Wizards trade or sell enchanters, warriors, slaves, gemstones, magical items, whatever they want. They just call it the Trade. Real original, I know." She took another sip of wine. It was good wine, and she knew she'd be glad later of the bolster of attitude it gave her. "So, does Geoffrey Wylie have a taste for the exotic then? Is he always bringing home pretty Asian girls?"

Ellen looked horrified and the enchanter couldn't help but laugh at the sweet expression on her face. "Never mind," she giggled. The girl looked sufficiently uncomfortable now and she stood to start clearing up her things.

"So tell me, Ellen…" the enchanter said, pursing her lips playfully. "How do you get out of this place?"

"Excuse me?" Ellen said, looking alarmed.

"How do you get out of here? Where are the secret passages and everything?" the enchanter continued. "I don't plan on staying. How do I get out?"

"I- I don't know what you mean," the girl said, looking genuinely confused.

"Damn, warrior," the enchanter said, rolling her brown eyes, but still she grinned. "How do I put it any other way? I'm guessing there's a wizard guard at the front gate, right? So, how do I get past that without being seen? You must know, right?"

Ellen stared back at the enchanter's lovely, beguiling face. "You're… you're going to try to run?"

"Why not?" the enchanter smiled. "Am I mistaken? Are Wylie's hosting skills really everything I've heard?"

Ellen bit her lip and turned slightly pink, but her eyes were locked on the enchanter in wonder. The enchanter often elicited all kinds of reactions in people – desire in the wizards usually, and a certain amount of awe in the underguilds. The enchanter had found herself a pawn in this game years ago – and she had transformed herself into a queen. Stay alive at all costs. She usually found that she made the other guilds a little nervous. Now, the young warrior's gray eyes looked worried – but there might be a spark of rebellion in there somewhere, the enchanter decided. She raised an eyebrow at the girl, awaiting a response.

"There's a back staircase," Ellen said, quietly so no one could overhear. She looked at once terrified and thrilled to be saying it. "Out through what used to be the servants' quarters, hundreds of years ago. It leads right to the back gate."

"Isn't the back gate guarded?"

"Most of the time," Ellen whispered. "But not at sunrise. They don't have enough men to guard it, not since the last White Rose attack. But you'd have to be careful – Paige and I get up at sunrise some days of the week for training."

"If there's a way out, then why haven't you taken it before?" The enchanter narrowed her brown eyes at the girl's gray ones. The girl shrugged, and the enchanter knew the wizards must have had this one for a while. It must never have even occurred to the little warrior that there was a world outside the clutches of the Red Rose, the enchanter decided. She stared down the girl for another moment. Finally she cracked a small smile.

"Well, sounds promising. Would you like to come with me?" she asked. She had to suppress a laugh at the look of surprise that came to Ellen's face.

"Me?" Ellen squeaked. "I- I don't think I could-"

But just then the door through which Wylie and the others had retreated through slammed open, and one of her wizard escorts stormed into the room.

"Enchanter!" he called from the doorway. "Mr. Wylie requests your presence." He remained in the doorway, leering at her.

The enchanter pouted slightly as if inconvenienced. She took her time getting to her feet, and then moved forward slowly and gracefully to the end of the table, sweeping out her long hair behind her and straightening her dress. Ellen gaped at her.

"Of course," she cooed at the wizard. "Be right there." She flashed her dark eyes at him, and against her porcelain skin they seemed to burn like dark coals. The man staggered back a few feet, overwhelmed by her power. It was enough for the enchanter, who turned her attention to the warrior next to her.

"Thank you for chatting with me, Ellen," she said softly. "Remember to keep playing the game."

The enchanter pulled her eyes from the girl's clear gray ones, so full of questions, and fixed a look of coy interest on her face as she swept from the room.

* * *

Ellen always wondered, later, if the enchanter had merely been brought to the house to deter Ellen, who was becoming a reasonably headstrong and somewhat rebellious teenager, from ever trying to run away. She learned just days after meeting the woman that the enchanter had been killed outside the back gate, trying to escape.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! One chapter left. Please review!_

_Terra_


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